


From Night to Night

by ftld



Series: Call Your Name [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Gen, Humor, Scheming, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftld/pseuds/ftld
Summary: On the inevitable day of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s wedding—when they are wrinkled and grey, and probably ninety years old because those two morons are definitely not capable of getting their shit together before then—Tetsurou is going to stand up in front of the gods, all of their friends, and Iwaizumi’s mother, and he is going to tell the story of how his epic, secret, spy-bros-bromance with Hanamaki started.Or, Tetsurou's adventures in making new friends, enduring Tsukishima's horrific attempts at flirting, and sublimating his angst with shipping.Epilogue-type deal for Smaller Designs
Series: Call Your Name [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019386
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	From Night to Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of an epilogue and really let’s be honest here, I was just dying to get all these fools in the same room. I don't know why everyone is always drunk in these. It’s just what happens. College!
> 
> Anyway, this one might have been my favorite to write. It depends on the day and my mood, but right now, today, I think this one was my favorite simply because Kuroo is such an amazingly endearing _dick._
> 
> Rated for language. Lots of language. For fuck’s sake, Kuroo, get a hold of yourself.

On the inevitable day of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s wedding—when they are wrinkled and grey, and probably ninety years old because those two morons are definitely not capable of getting their shit together before then—Tetsurou is going to stand up in front of the gods, all of their friends, and Iwaizumi’s mother, and he is going to tell the story of how his epic, secret, spy-bros-bromance with Hanamaki started.  
  
It went something like this: It was a fine, sunny day. Oikawa had gathered them all up at some park near his apartment and they spent the afternoon tossing a volleyball around and teasing Iwaizumi. Tetsurou, brain twisted into a pretzel from four solid months of feeling like he’s a bit on drugs every time he’s around Oikawa and Iwaizumi could not comprehend the impossible level of _what the fuck_ was up with those two.  
  
Eventually, Oikawa got distracted by a girl. Teeth clenched and tension radiating from his shoulders to his hips, Iwaizumi glared daggers at Oikawa’s back as he flitted off. Tetsurou called his name twice, unheard, then caught Hanamaki’s eye and gestured wildly between the two before shaking both fists at the heavens and mouthing, ‘ _What the fuck?!_ _’_  
  
Hanamaki nodded emphatically and mouthed back, ‘ _I know right?!_ _’_ and mimed dialing a phone before counting out his number with his fingers.  
  
Tetsurou furiously typed in the phone number.  
  
The rest, they say, is history. They haven’t stopped texting since. Tetsurou texts Hanamaki more than anyone else. More than Bokuto—more than _Kenma_. Hanamaki is his secret spy-bro and without him Tetsurou would still be stuck deep in _what the fuck-_ land with no hope of passing any of his classes because this shit is life-ruining levels of crazy.  
  
They are performing a service. It’s for the good of human-kind and all that crap. Sure, they’ve taken drastic measures, but Oikawa and Iwaizumi cannot be permitted to keep running wild. They’re terrorizing the universe at large by this point, what are Tetsurou and Hanamaki supposed to do, _not_ shove them together at every opportunity? On the other hand, Tetsurou and Hanamaki have, admittedly, caused more problems than they’ve solved. In hindsight Tetsurou is also willing to admit he’s not the most creative schemer in the world; it’s the third time he’s tried this particular gambit after all.  
  
Rumbling through the house Kenma’s cousin owns out in the Tokyo suburbs is music and drink and New Year’s wishes. They’ve pulled off a pretty decent get-together this time. The spiderweb of invitations spread far and wide and it’s awesome, this mishmash of people who don’t normally get to be in the same room at the same time.  
  
Oikawa and Iwaizumi are huddled off to the side pretending the rest of the world is as stupid and oblivious as they are. From the moment he walked in the door, Iwaizumi’s been kind of tense, so Oikawa’s taken to tugging at his hair and pretending it’s out of place. Iwaizumi has a long-suffering look on his face but lets Oikawa do as he pleases, some shared delusion spreading between them like all friends casually brush their fingers through each other’s hair and whisper with their heads tilted together like that.  
  
It’s so cute, Tetsurou wants to puke. He pulls up a text addressed to ‘Vindication’. Types, ‘ _You seeing this shit?_ _’_  
  
Across the room, Hanamaki slides his phone halfway out of his pocket and shakes his head.  
  
“You ever going to tell me who you’re texting all the time?” Bokuto asks, one arm snaking around Tetsurou’s waist and the other trying to reach the back of Akaashi’s shirt to drag him closer. As is tradition, Bokuto wears the tiara he won off Kenma’s cousin back at Tetsurou’s birthday party. He’s managed to defend it ever since, holding onto it all through their get-together to celebrate or grieve their respective school’s performance at the Intercollegiate, and Akaashi’s birthday right after. It’s a new record. Tetsurou _will_ break it if it's the last thing he does.  
  
“Nah. It’s more fun this way. Like espionage.”  
  
“You know what else is fun?” Bokuto asks, already laughing when Tetsurou smacks his wandering hand away.  
  
“Bad! I told you, no more of that. The one time was _enough_.”  
  
Bokuto makes another wild grab for Akaashi—he’s laughing, too, dancing to the music, purposefully out of reach by a hair. Akaashi’s playing with Bokuto tonight instead of trying to let him down early and easy; Bokuto realizes it at the same moment Tetsurou does and a slow, easy grin spreads over his face. Completely unapologetic, Bokuto says, “Sorry, Kuroo.”  
  
They probably have more fun than they should with this, but Bokuto is grabby on a good day and all bets are off when he’s been drinking. Nights like tonight, though, the ones where Akaashi’s into it, the rest of the world may as well not exist as far as Bokuto’s concerned. The fun of being handsy with random friends is already gone, faded away into the atmosphere.  
  
Long fingers curl around Bokuto’s wrist; Akaashi draws him closer and adjusts his hold to lace their fingers together. Nobody else is really dancing, they’re mostly bopping to the beat or nodding along with the music like Tetsurou. Bokuto laughs with a huge grin on his face and lets Akaashi draw him closer, lets himself be pulled into the little bubble of slow dancing and deliberate smiles. The whole thing is so disgustingly sweet that Bokuto and Akaashi could probably give Oikawa and Iwaizumi a run for their money. At least Bokuto and Akaashi admit that emotions are, indeed, things that exist and are frequently inflicted upon them. Tetsurou still has no idea what the hell is up with Iwaizumi calling Oikawa a flaming pile of garbage with so much affection that Tetsurou firmly believes one of these days he’s going to produce actual fucking hearts and sparkles out of thin air.  
  
_Bzzt. Bzzzzt._ Against Tetsurou’s leg, his phone vibrates a pattern reserved for the source of ninety-nine percent of the angst currently being sublimated by shipping his teammates. Good ol’ Tsukishima.  
  
_‘Stuck between Yachi and Yamaguchi making doe eyes at each other. Help.’_ Then, right after, _‘I can literally see you reading over my shoulder, Tadashi, man up.’_  
  
Engaging in this bizarre quasi-friendship with Tsukki is a terrible idea and Tetsurou should cut it out immediately—but the thing is that they kind of click. Messages fly between them on a near-daily basis, have been for months upon months, all the way back to the Spring Interhigh last year. If Tsukki’s not going to put an end to it then Tetsurou isn’t going to, either. Besides, neither of them have the easiest time making friends.  
  
They talk about school and volleyball, sometimes their friends, and sometimes their families. Sometimes Tsukki rants for six lengthy messages in a row about shorty middle-blockers who suck on defense and hog all the glory, then goes silent for two days while he gets over being mortified for being so petty.  
  
Tetsurou gets it, though. Being the guy put on the starting lineup primarily because of height is difficult. It’s mostly a done thing now, Tsukki has more than proven himself and there’s not anyone who’s seen him play who would argue he doesn’t deserve his place—but the sting of something like that is long-lasting and it comes with a weird sort of insecurity constantly at battle with pride that’s hard to shake.  
  
If Tetsurou had found someone who could empathize back when it was him, well, he’d probably be stuck in the same situation Tsukki is: neck-deep in his first serious crush ever. Tetsurou isn’t heartless enough to shut it down. What Tsukki needs is a friend, and that’s what he’s got. That’s why there are rules. Tetsurou and Akaashi spent two hours hammering them out up in the stands at Nationals last year, and Tetsurou treats them like gospel. They are disturbingly thorough and clinical—if only Akaashi could transfer some of his competence dealing with other people’s relationships over to dealing with his own.  
  
This situation calls for a rule two response, Tetsurou thinks. He replies, _‘Aw, the kiddies are in love.’_  
  
The rules are good, they help keep things light and stable.  
  
_‘I think we have a level five in progress_ _,_ _’_ Hanamaki warns with an emoji that’s crying rivers down its face.  
  
Tetsurou glances up and to the right. Nah, level three. Four, tops. Iwaizumi’s just shoving mochi in Oikawa’s face. It’s like their version of feeding each other.  
_  
_ ‘ _Did I show you this one yet? Do they think this shit is normal?_ _’_ Tetsurou attaches the picture of Iwaizumi giving Oikawa a piggyback ride across the gym a few days ago. Practice had been over for ages, they were just running around flirting with each other by that point.  
  
‘ _At least they had shirts on this time._ _’_  
  
Isn’t that the truth? Tetsurou is not looking forward to spring.  
_  
_ “Kuro-chan!” Oikawa calls, waving one arm in the air and using the other to wipe his face with a napkin. Iwaizumi has a grumpy scowl on his face and is holding another piece of mochi with his thumb and forefinger in the vicinity of Oikawa’s mouth. Oikawa eats it straight out of Iwaizumi’s hand and starts dragging him over to Tetsurou’s little group.  
  
The face Iwaizumi makes when he glances at Akaashi is enough to transform all of Tetsurou’s aggravation into the sort of general, all-encompassing glee that can only be derived from indulgent rom-coms. It’s amazing. If Tetsurou could get away with snapping a picture of it without violence ensuing, he would. It’s an absurd bundle of nerves, embarrassment, and something bordering on _terrified._ The myriad comes together in a sickly cringe; it’s easily the most expressive Iwaizumi’s been in all the time Tetsurou’s known him.  
  
Then, because Oikawa is an amazing human being, he calls Iwaizumi out on it in front of everyone. “Are you embarrassed that your drunken fling is less attractive than mine? Sorry, Akaashi, no offense, but I have a _thing_ for arms.”  
  
Iwaizumi turns around and walks away. They let him go, for now, but Tetsurou sees Oikawa and Bokuto tracking his movements, plotting to drag him back when he lets his guard down.  
  
“You know, I’ve actually been wondering about that one. Why _did_ you kiss him?” Bokuto asks with a sharp nod in Iwaizumi’s direction before tilting his head in toward Akaashi.  
  
Akaashi offers a coy smile and says, “I like arms, too.”  
  
This seems to make an absurdly huge amount of sense to Bokuto. “Ok, cool.”  
  
Tetsurou needs new friends. Or… maybe not, because the unrestrained jealousy smeared all over Oikawa’s face is truly something to behold. This time, he _does_ get a picture.  
  
It doesn’t take long before Iwaizumi wanders back. He takes a lap, snags some more snacks and a couple of fizzy drinks for himself and Oikawa, then rejoins the loose circle they’ve made with a glare that promises retribution upon anyone foolish enough to point out that he left for any other reason. Tetsurou almost feels a bit bad for him; Iwaizumi was kind of awkward when they first met, though he’s loosened up a lot. In a way he’s a bit like Tsukki, they both require careful, well-planned approaches.  
  
Well, Tetsurou figured out how to be friendly with a death-glaring, blond menace, and he can figure it out with a death-glaring, not-blond menace, too. Persistence is key. There is also a ninety percent certainty that the two of them can smell fear; confidence is essential.  
  
“Okay, Iwaizumi, I’ve been patient. Your time is up. You owe me a dance.”  
  
“Iwa-chan danced?!” Oikawa’s eyes go wide and his nostrils flare. He spits, “That’s _unforgivable_.”  
  
A booming guffaw explodes from Bokuto, head thrown back, one arm clutching his stomach. Forehead tucked against Bokuto’s shoulder, Akaashi laughs, too.  
  
“Funny, that’s exactly what he said you’d think when I tried to make him last time. Operative word being ‘tried.’ Don’t worry, your precious Iwaizumi’s purity is intact.” Tetsurou pretends the eye roll is for show, but it’s actually just Tetsurou rolling his eyes because seriously, _what the fuck?_  
  
“I feel betrayed.” Oikawa pouts.  
  
“Oh my god, you dumpster fire, _shut up!_ ”  
  
Actual fucking hearts and sparkles, Tetsurou will not be surprised at all. These crazy people all need to have frank and honest conversations about their feelings instead of hiding behind all this bullshit like _cowards_.  
  
_‘Do you like birds?’_ Tsukki asks.  
  
Rule three? God, Tetsurou hopes not, but better safe than sorry. He replies with an iron will and straight face, but he is screaming on the inside. ‘ _Birds are cool. My Grandmother had one before she died. Are you getting a pet?_ _’_  
  
There’s an awkwardly long pause where Tsukki starts and stops typing a few times before he answers. _‘No.’_  
  
Rule one: he has to respond no matter how stupid it is. _‘You seem more of a lizard kind of guy anyway.’_  
  
“Just don’t forget who else is trashy,” Oikawa says with a triumphant grin that Tetsurou absolutely does not want to know the backstory of.  
  
Looking caught somewhere between devastated and turned on, Iwaizumi shakes his head. It is a terrifying look on him.  
  
Tetsurou takes a step away, just in case.  
  
“I _will_ leave you here,” Iwaizumi threatens, because of course he can’t have a normal reaction to lusting after Oikawa. Jesus Christ, Tetsurou thought Lev was dense—Iwaizumi’s obliviousness to his own emotional state is a hazard to the well-being of others.  
  
“That’s cool, you can come home with me,” Bokuto says, leaning in close to Oikawa and grinning. Tetsurou’s impressed with the bluff; Akaashi covers his mouth with one hand and looks away to hide his laughter. Slowly, purposefully, Bokuto licks his lips. “And not in the way where you sleep on the floor, this time.”  
  
Iwaizumi grabs the back of Oikawa’s collar and jerks him back two steps before realizing what he’s done. His face flushes, but he doesn’t let go of Oikawa’s shirt.  
  
“Aw, too bad.” Bokuto shrugs and drains the rest of his beer.  
  
The abbreviated _bzt, bzt, bzt_ for Hanamaki signals the arrival of a picture of Iwaizumi’s face when he saw Akaashi. What a fucking champ. Tetsurou replies with Oikawa’s jealous bitch-face.  
  
_‘Let’s make memes,’_ Hanamaki says.  
  
The sudden giggle is loose before Tetsurou can even think to stop it. That’s _perfect_. He can think of at least ten other shots that’d be great for it, too. Kenma’s even got Photoshop.  
  
“Espionage?” Bokuto asks, still cranky that Tetsurou refuses to elaborate on what that means, exactly.  
  
Iwaizumi looks suspicious enough that Tetsurou locks his phone and tucks it into his pocket. Not worth the risk.  
  
“Alright,” Tetsurou says. It’s time to change the subject. “I’m going to open with bribery. What do you want for the tiara?”  
  
“You wanna be party princess? You know the rules. Defeat me in single combat or win a drinking contest. I don’t care which. Let’s do both, actually.” Bokuto points his empty bottle in Tetsurou’s direction, a combative leer on his face. “Just remember what happened last time.”  
  
Either option is fine, but it’s far too early to get shit-faced and slap-fight Bokuto. “Maybe later.”  
  
Then, just when it seems the general atmosphere will calm down, Daichi walks in the door with Sugawara. Sugawara, who is wearing a Jurassic Park t-shirt, a black, downy coat unzipped over top so it’s perfectly clear on first impression, a dinosaur mask perched at an angle on his forehead, and the biggest shit-eating grin Tetsurou has ever seen in his life.  
  
“I’m going home,” Iwaizumi says.  
  
_Oh no, you don_ _’t_ is the collective response he elicits as Bokuto takes a quick step that puts him firmly between Iwaizumi and the door and Oikawa latches on to one arm and shouts, “Hey, Dai-chan, introduce Iwa-chan to your friend!” while pretending that he’s not outright groping Iwaizumi’s bicep.  
  
Anyone else would find themselves on the business end of an Iwaizumi-shaped hissy fit; Oikawa, of course, gets away with it. Iwaizumi doesn’t even shrug out of the hold. He just sighs toward the ceiling and shakes his head a little. His fist—still clenched around Oikawa’s collar—loosens, then drops to his side.  
  
Tetsurou is sort of used to being a third wheel. Being friends with Bokuto and Akaashi, then Oikawa and Iwaizumi will do that to a person. Adding in Daichi and Sugawara is a bit much, though, even if Tetsurou’s not sure exactly where they lie on the spectrum of _what the fuck_ to _please stop fooling around with random people and admit you_ _’re together already_. He’s already making his excuses as he exchanges pleasantries with the new arrivals. A nice, quiet corner where he can engage in savage mockery instead of thinking too hard on life as a whole sounds amazing right now.  
  
He grabs another beer on his way and snaps a picture of the full group of them with a _click_ before claiming a deserted corner as his own _._ A few taps against the screen and Tetsurou sends the group photo to Hanamaki, because that’s kind of what they do, and then to Kenma as well because that little brat could have at least shown up like he said he would.  
  
_‘Who are you bitching about now?’_ Kenma asks.  
  
The answer is obviously, _‘All of them.’_  
  
Then Kenma, the total shit, replies, _‘Whatever. This is why I stayed home.’_  
  
_‘Let’s just find a closet and lock ‘em in,’_ Hanamaki writes before Tetsurou can come up with an appropriate burn for Kenma.  
  
Story of Tetsurou’s life, right there. Searching for locking janitorial closets all over Nittaidai’s campus has become a sport for him. There’s plenty of them, that’s not the problem. The _problem_ is that Tetsurou just really, _really_ doesn’t want to be so lame and cliche—though, maybe he doesn’t have the luxury of being picky about it when he’s on round three of _if they get drunk enough maybe they_ _’ll forget they think they’re only friends_. They may be repressed lunatics, but Oikawa and Iwaizumi are still his friends and they deserve better than that.  
  
Well, they deserve better until after exams, at least. After that, sure, Tetsurou will shove them in a fucking closet—and he’ll either break them or they’ll starve to death, there is no in-between.  
  
Hanamaki joins the group of outrageous and belligerent sexual tension, not caring about being the seventh wheel or not realizing that Oikawa and Iwaizumi, somehow, have competition for the biggest train-wrecks in the room. Tetsurou’s not sure what they’re talking about, but he’s content to lean back and watch, take long sips from his beer and relax a bit. After a while, Daichi catches his eye and excuses himself in favor of coming over. Not two minutes later, Iwaizumi is glancing between Tetsurou and Daichi, and yeah, that must seem like a complicated dilemma. Iwaizumi quickly makes up his mind and disentangles himself from Oikawa and joins them. Ah, the lure of the quiet corner.  
  
“Am I reading this right?” Tetsurou asks. “Did you just willing choose to be in my company? Are we— Iwaizumi, are we becoming friends?”  
  
The way Iwaizumi grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest while looking so unbelievably put out is adorable—and not in the rule two sort of way, in the actual, so uncomfortably cute way that Iwaizumi stumbles into now and then where his face is a little bit flushed and it’s obvious he’s trying not to clench his teeth. If Tetsurou wouldn’t lose an arm immediately afterward, he’d ruffle the guy’s hair.  
  
After a moment, Iwaizumi forces himself to relax and drops the arms. “We’re friends. How could we not be friends at this point? Just because you’re the most infuriating enabler on the face of the planet, almost as batshit as Oikawa, and keep trying to make me dance with you doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”  
  
Daichi sighs. “I wish any of that was confusing or unclear. I suppose to someone who hasn’t met Kuroo…”  
  
A quick grin flashes across Iwaizumi’s face as he tries to hide his laugh by taking a sip of his soda.  
  
“I don’t know about this,” Tetsurou says, ignoring all the asshole parts of Iwaizumi’s little speech. “You called my hair a thirty-five. Or are you going to try and say you didn’t mean it?“  
  
“Oh, no, I definitely meant it.”  
  
Behind Iwaizumi, Sugawara bends his elbows, puts his wrists up next to his shoulders, and flails his hands around with a cackling imitation of a roar.  
  
Tetsurou wheezes. He pulls it together just long enough to say, “Jesus, Tsukki is going to be _furious_ he missed this,” before bursting into laughter again.  
  
This is the dangerous part. The wish, the wondering—it needs to be quashed _now_.  
  
“Tsukki?” Daishi asks, glancing back at Sugawara before returning his attention to Tetsurou. “You mean Tsukishima? What does he have to do with it?”  
  
Now, Tetsurou’s only half the dirty liar people assume, but he’d honestly thought everyone knew about this. He stopped trying to keep it a secret when Oikawa went and dropped the bombshell that there was such a ridiculous gossip chain in place that even _he_ knew about it—and even worse, that he’d found out from Iwaizumi of all people.  
  
After some digging, Tetsurou has managed to nail most of the process down. It usually seems to start when Tsukki confides something or another in Yamaguchi, who doesn’t always realize when something is said to him in confidence. Despite knowing this, Tsukki has stubbornly maintained a giant blind-spot for Yamaguchi and accepts as fact that the secrets he tells him may not always remain secrets. Yamaguchi generally forgets himself when he’s hanging out with Hinata and Yachi. On more than one occasion Tetsurou was left with the impression that Tsukki had been there, too. As in, Yamaguchi said— _right in front of Tsukki—_ something to the effect of ‘Hey, so, Tsukki has this secret and I’m about to tell you all about it.’ Once Hinata knows, it’s a matter of thirty seconds to four hours before Kenma does, too. If Tetsurou had to guess, he’d put the average at around five and a half minutes.  
  
Embarrassingly enough, the Kenma to Tetsurou segment of the gossip chain is the one that breaks down most frequently. Not because Kenma has some weird sense of propriety or anything, but because he genuinely doesn’t give a flying fuck about ninety percent of this shit and assumes Tetsurou doesn’t, either. Tetsurou absolutely lets Kenma continue to believe this. It’s for the sake of his pride; he can’t let Kenma see what a wreck he’s turned into.  
  
It doesn’t always follow that exact sequence, of course. Tsukki’s been known to flat-out ignore Yamaguchi all together sometimes, and recently he’s started bringing certain things to Tetsurou instead. Mostly volleyball stuff, a few school-related annoyances, nothing all that serious or secretive but the looming promise of _yet_ hangs ominously overhead. Tetsurou worries he’s going to wind up needing another set of rules to deal with phone calls related to such recent ‘problems’ as replacing the string in a favorite hoodie or the proper temperature to cook eggs to. Like either of them have any clue how to cook, how absurd.  
  
Rather than explain any of this to Daichi, Tetsurou asks, “You know another angry beanpole that’d be on the floor laughing at Suga right now? We keep in touch. We’re friends.”  
  
“Wait, are _you_ the Nekoma blocker he’s been talking to?” Daichi stares wide-eyed, becoming dangerously red in the face. “I assumed it was Haiba.”  
  
“ _Why?_ _”_ Tetsurou asks, horribly offended. Lev? _Lev?!_  
  
“I don’t know, maybe because they’re the same age, play the same position, and are both working hard to increase their skill level. Oh, and they both put in extra practice at that training camp last year _with their mentors_.”  
  
_Ouch_ , that one stings.  
  
“ _Oh!_ ” Iwaizumi snaps his fingers. “Tsukishima was Karasuno number eleven, right? Sorry, Oikawa always calls him Blocker-kun.”  
  
“It must be so complicated to live in a never-ending sea of nicknames,” Tetsurou says.  
  
“Sort of. Eleven was pretty good, I remember being impressed. He learned from you?”  
  
“Yeah. Me, Bokuto, and Akaashi did a decent amount of extra work with a few first-years from Karasuno and Nekoma. Tsukki was one of ‘em. Karasuno didn’t have a strong blocker for him to learn from.” Tetsurou shrugs because, really, that’s more than enough of an explanation. Tsukki may be waspish, but he’s pragmatic, too. He’s also stupidly competitive and not nearly as good at hiding it as he thinks he is.  
  
“Is this the same guy Chibi-chan was worried about awhile back?”  
  
It’s hilarious how almost no one calls Hinata by his name anymore, there’s just an endless array of nicknames instead. Tetsurou cannot adequately express how happy he is that Chibi-chan is the one that’s starting to stick. If Tetsurou has it his way that little monster will have ‘ _Chibi-chan_ _’_ emblazoned across the back of his jersey in the V-League.  
  
“Yes,” Daichi growls. “Not just him, either. Me, too.”  
  
“Chibi-chan was just being dramatic.” That’s what Tetsurou’s going to believe and nobody will convince him otherwise.  
  
“What were you worried about?” Iwaizumi asks, too serious, dragging this chat down into the depths where it’s at risk of becoming a full-on _conversation._  
  
Tetsurou says, “Nothing,” with a distant hope that the topic will go die in the street or something.  
  
“Not nothing,” Daichi scoffs. “He has a crush on you, Kuroo. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t notice, he has no idea how to be subtle about it.”  
  
“Well, of _course_ I noticed.” It’s unbelievable Tetsurou has to say it out loud. “Do you think this is fun for me? Please, _please_ at least teach that boy the concept of flirting because he is _terrible_ at it.”  
  
“Ah—”  
  
“No, seriously. I don’t understand why you’re worried. The things he says to me sometimes… it’s the biggest bucket of ice water you can imagine.” It feels nice to talk about it. Really nice. Why the fuck not? Tetsurou can always use Iwaizumi for cover if Daichi tries to smack him one.  
  
“Actually, you know what? Don’t teach him anything because I am legitimately terrified of the day he finally learns to be charming. That’s gonna be rough. I’m really not looking forward to it. Hopefully, he makes a couple new friends or gets a girlfriend or boyfriend or _something_ for a while. Just somewhere else to direct all of _that_.”  
  
Iwaizumi’s eyebrows _are_ crazy bushy, Tetsurou never realized it before but now that they’ve climbed halfway up his forehead Tetsurou has to admit that Oikawa is totally on the money with that one. Tetsurou points an accusatory finger and says, “Don’t you make that face at me, I’m trying to be responsible here.”  
  
The caterpillars Iwaizumi calls eyebrows drop, but only because he’s confused now instead of surprised. “I guess I don’t see how this is such a problem if it’s… not a problem?”  
  
It’s easy to forget that Iwaizumi is actually a pretty smart guy, he’s just so outwardly focused and lacks any self-awareness. Being childhood friends with Oikawa would probably do that to anyone. The idea of Oikawa and Iwaizumi with even less chill and the innocence of childhood is hilarious; as soon as Tetsurou’s done being livid over Iwaizumi’s unsettlingly accurate observation, he’s going to go pry some stories out of Hanamaki.  
  
Something in Tetsurou’s face must give him away. Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow and he does that infuriating thing where he pokes at the _exact_ spot Tetsurou’s trying to shield. The fucker learned that shit from Oikawa. “You never think about it? Not even in a ‘maybe, someday’ sort of way?”  
  
“Sure, _maybe_. In the same way that _maybe_ I’ll run away and elope with a pop star or _maybe_ I’ll change majors, become a physicist, and invent a time machine. I am not thinking about it in terms of real life.” Tetsurou tilts his head back and compartmentalizes, shoves all those maybes straight back into their box because for now, they are irrelevant. “It doesn’t even matter. I don’t know about you, but me, first year of high school was nothing like me in second year, or third, or now. It’s not like you can’t figure out how I got here from there or anything, it’s just that I’m growing. We all are, that’s how this shit works. What it would be now is not what it would be later, and if it’s going to be anything it’s going to happen _later_.”  
  
Tetsurou has always assumed the way Iwaizumi looks like a bit of a hard-ass no matter what he’s doing is just how his face is, but something in his jaw softens for a moment and Tetsurou is thrown for a loop.  
  
“That’s a good way to put it,” Iwaizumi says, adding the hint of a smile to the baffling expression he’s wearing.  
  
Slowly, Daichi lets go of his murderous posture and Tetsurou starts to relax. “Fine. I mean, I get it. I want him to make friends, and as much as I hate to admit it, you’ve _somehow_ been a good influence. Just… Kuroo, please do not lead him on. He’s only starting to come out of his shell, if you break his heart it’s going to be over for him for a long time.”  
  
“I’m not going to break his heart,” Tetsurou says. It is a mantra, the goal he’s working toward with all this bullshit. The rules are there for Tsukki, to let him spread his wings and be a stupid teenager with his first crush without getting crushed back. It’s what Tetsurou would have wanted someone to do for him.  
  
Daichi glances out of the corner of his eye. “What kind of stuff does he say to you?”  
  
Tetsurou will burn in hell before he allows anyone to find out. He will never let that information out into the world. It’s why he has a ten-digit passcode of random numbers generated on the internet that wipes his phone if he fails it enough times. _No one_ is seeing those messages.  
  
Something about the look on his face must clue Daichi in that it’s never going to happen.  
  
“All right, I can respect that.”  
  
“Yo, Suga!” Tetsurou calls, rather than confront any of the things Daichi has said. He holds out his phone and points to it before hitting _record_ with his thumb. “Ham it up for your kiddos back home.”  
  
Like they were waiting for this exact moment, Sugawara and Oikawa fall into a cheesy pose. Sugawara bares his teeth in a snarl, towering over Oikawa who leans away in an impressive display of flexibility with both hands flung between them, fingers spread wide. Oikawa screeches, “Save me, Iwa-chan!”  
  
“Too on the nose, Oikawa!” Hanamaki yells.  
  
Oikawa flips the bird in Hanamaki’s direction and arches an expectant eyebrow at Iwaizumi.  
  
“Seriously?” Iwaizumi asks. “I think I’ll leave you to be eaten.”  
  
In two rapid bursts, Tetsurou zooms in on Oikawa’s pout. “Why are you so cruel? You know I’d just haunt you forever anyway.”  
  
“I have trouble sympathizing with flaming piles of garbage,” Iwaizumi says. He and Oikawa stare at each other for a solid fifteen seconds while everyone else in the room joins Tetsurou in mentally screaming, ‘ _what the fuck?!_ _’_ before Iwaizumi huffs and goes to detach Sugawara. “You are such a pain in the ass.”  
  
“It’s not just me, right?” Tetsurou groans. “How are they this clueless? How do they not realize? It’s so far past stupid by now.”  
  
“You mean the thing where Iwaizumi and Oikawa are hopelessly in love with each other?” Daichi shrugs. “They got together weeks ago. They’re messing with you.”  
  
Tetsurou’s not sure it’s accurate to say he’s seeing red. It’s more a fiery inferno encroaching on his vision, and sure, some of it’s red, but there’s also some orange and yellow… the tiniest bit of purple and blue… “Those dicks have been _playing with_ me?”  
  
“Yeah, well, in case you somehow don’t realize, you totally deserve it.”  
  
Tetsurou just cannot deal with this bullshit. Behind Daichi, Bokuto and Akaashi stand on either end of a squat, circular table and set out little plastic shot glasses in rows, and yeah, Tetsurou’s down with that. “Time to go claim my rightful place as party princess. Getting hammered out of my mind to win a plastic tiara will be a huge improvement over whatever is happening right now.”  
  
“Kuroo—”  
  
“Chill, Daichi. There was only the one time someone got hurt and it was only Yaku. If you’re so worried, come referee. Or, better yet, join in. I bet you’d look amazing in a tiara.” Lord knows Akaashi doesn’t even pretend to be impartial and Oikawa would just make whatever call entertains him the most—like a good friend should, really—but it’s more fun if no one tries to make rules and everyone drinks.  
  
“I refuse to babysit you idiots, do what you want.”  
  
There’s about a thirty percent chance Daichi shuts the whole thing down despite what he’s saying but for now, he follows Tetsurou over to the table. Tetsurou snags a spot between Oikawa and Akaashi.  
  
“Alright,” Bokuto says, banging a fist down with enough force to jostle every one of the plastic shot glasses lined up on it. They’re only a little over half-full, the weight of the liquid inside not enough to keep them steady against Bokuto’s enthusiasm. Daichi stretches his hands over top to keep them from tipping over. _“Pin, Pon, Pan._ Fuck it up and you can answer a question or drink. The rules are that there are no rules. I mean, like, no hits above the neck and only be a dick in the fun kind of way, but other than that, anything goes!”  
  
“Really laying down the law there, Bo-chan.”  
  
“Shut up, Oikawa.”  
  
Offended whining sputters in a sort of nonsensical way from Oikawa’s mouth; Iwaizumi rolls his eyes from a few paces back like he understands any of it despite there not being any actual words. Drinking games with highly competitive people are always a good time, specifically because of people who get revved up fast, like Oikawa. People like Oikawa are also the reason why they never fill the shot glasses up all the way anymore. Better to drag the game out a bit even if everyone starts out going for the throat.  
  
“Ready?” Bokuto asks.  
  
Daichi takes two long steps backward and joins Iwaizumi hovering with a handful of other spectators. Hanamaki flashes a double thumbs-up and wide grin from the side-lines.  
  
From the very start, the entire table focuses down Tetsurou. Over and over they point at him every cycle until suddenly Oikawa points just beyond him to Akaashi instead and Tetsurou makes the first error of the night in what must be record time. _Damnit._ If Tetsurou hadn’t already done the same thing to everyone here at least once or twice before, he’d call it cheating. Actually, in all fairness, Tetsurou kind of had it coming.  
  
“Do you want to tell a truth?” Oikawa asks with a beatific smile that means Tetsurou _does not_ want to be caught lying about whatever question Oikawa has in mind.  
  
“Not even a little bit.”  
  
“Then drink up, Kuro-chan!” Oikawa sings.  
  
Tetsurou takes a picture of the lines of shots and sends it off to Tsukki with, _‘My last wish is that you tell everyone I was amazing.’_  
  
_‘Why would I lie like that?’_  
  
“Let’s do this.” Tetsurou throws back a shot.  
  
There has to be something seriously wrong with Tetsurou if this is what gets butterflies out of him. He’ll set those warm, fuzzy nuisances churning in his abdomen on _fire_ , he’ll burn them to dust.  
  
The next two rounds, Tetsurou fucks up the rhythm on purpose. Everything devolves into a shit-show soon after. There’s a collective agreement to stop ganging up on Tetsurou, so there’s that at least, but the general competitiveness of the group never lets up. Grudges form. Sugawara and Bokuto glare at each other from across the table. For some reason, Oikawa is still kind of after Tetsurou’s head.  
  
_“Argh!”_ Bokuto groans when he misses his cue.  
  
Lips quirked into a crooked sort of smile, Akaashi stares at Bokuto and asks, “What’s your favorite color?”  
  
Frustration with Sugawara forgotten, Bokuto reaches out to tug at the collar of Akaashi’s shirt. “Blue, today.”  
  
Akaashi is such a raging cheater, he doesn’t even drink; it wasn’t even his turn. Tetsurou doesn’t think he’s ever seen him make a mistake, either. All he does is toss soft questions at Bokuto between pointed, white-hot daggers at everyone else. At least Tetsurou isn’t the only one who looks about ready to gag from how disgustingly adorable the two of them are.  
  
It’s not a long contest. Oikawa wants to put up a fight, but he can’t hold his liquor and he’s terrible at the game; Sugawara makes a tactical retreat around the same time Oikawa gets hauled away by Iwaizumi. As usual, it winds up a matter of Tetsurou versus Bokuto and Akaashi, and those assholes outnumber him. Tetsurou gives up somewhere between shots number six and forty-five—he can’t figure out the conversion of half-full plastic party glasses to actual ounces without a calculator right now and who gives a shit anyway?  
  
Tetsurou grabs two bottles of water and retreats back to his corner, leans back so that his head rests between the walls, and closes his eyes for a moment as he fumbles around in his pocket to make sure his phone is in there. It’s a vague paranoia, though he doesn’t need to worry much, even when he’s not among friends. For fun, he thinks about holding his thumb down over the number one on the passcode screen until everything is erased.  
  
When he opens his eyes again, he catches sight of Hanamaki approaching.  
  
“Thanks for the invite, but are you sure we can risk being seen together like this?” Hanamaki asks, eyes darting and so serious sounding that Tetsurou almost believes him. Man, Tetsurou _loves_ this guy.  
  
“It’s fine, everyone’s drunk. Well, I’m drunk. Are you drunk?”  
  
Hanamaki shakes his head. “I don’t drink.”  
  
“Wait a minute.” What? There’s something so _incredibly_ wrong about that and Tetsurou wracks his brain for a solid minute before it finally hits him. “Oh my god. Are you the only sober person in this room full of... of”—Tetsurou gestures out at the room as a whole and spills his water a little—“Of _these people_?”  
  
Hanamaki chuckles. “Nah, not the only one. Iwaizumi and Sawamura aren’t drunk.”  
  
“Dude.”  
  
“Hard to tell with that Akaashi guy. I haven’t seen him drinking but gun to my head I wouldn’t bet on him passing a sobriety test.”  
  
“That’s so _evil_ ,” Tetsurou says, scandalized and thrilled by it.  
  
“Everyone keeps calling me evil. _Chaotic neutral_ , you people need to work on your active listening skills.” Hanamaki leans against the wall next to Tetsurou and shakes his head with a disappointed frown.  
  
“What’s wrong with being evil?” Tetsurou asks. “I’m kind of evil, it’s fun.”  
  
It’s great even. Tetsurou is great and this party is great and all these new friends are amazing. There’s Hanamaki: the kind of guy you call when you need to borrow a ski mask, or baseball bat, or both, and will come along to help before asking what’s up with the rope and bolt-cutters. Iwaizumi’s the guy you call to help get rid of the evidence; Oikawa’s the one with the alibi. Bizarrely enough, Tetsurou thinks Iwaizumi’s probably his favorite of all these new friends. Not because they’re particularly close or anything—they aren’t—it’s just that Tetsurou’s the friend that helps get rid of the evidence, too, and he’s never had someone else like that in his life.  
  
Then, there is the complicated bundle of emotions that Tetsurou is not willing or able to categorize that goes by the name of Tsukishima Kei. “God, he’s like if you stuck Kenma and Iwaizumi in a blender—grumpy and anti-social and way, way too smart for his own good.”  
  
“Who?” Hanamaki asks.  
  
“Never mind.” Tetsurou is unreasonably drunk. It’s not even fair, how did this happen? Oh, right, Bokuto.  
  
Hanamaki shrugs. “Sounds like a fun dude, whoever it is. I’m heading out. Don’t drink any more, okay? Don’t want to lose my partner-in-crime to a freak accident having his stomach pumped.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I am _done_. Oh, wait, I have something important to tell you.”  
  
Hanamaki patiently waits for Tetsurou to remember what it is.  
  
_“Right_. Oikawa and Iwaizumi. They’re together? They’re fucking with us? Does that sound right to you, or is Daichi the one fucking with me? Dude, _someone_ is fucking with me and I demand revenge.”  
  
“Alright, we’ll plot your revenge tomorrow.” Hanamaki eyes Tetsurou up and down and laughs. “Maybe next week.”  
  
“Stop being _evil_.”  
  
“Love you, too, buddy. Seriously. Water and sleep. In that order.” Hanamaki waves a hand over his head as he walks away to say his goodbyes to Oikawa and Iwaizumi.  
  
The party winds down after that. Tetsurou gets more messages but if he tries to key in his passcode he’ll fail it, and he’s not ready to wipe all the possibilities floating around his message and photo history just yet.  
  
When Oikawa and Iwaizumi say goodbye, Bokuto smacks a kiss to Oikawa’s cheek, dangerously close to his lips, and laughs when Iwaizumi darts away with a furious sort of aggravation to avoid the same. The lights and music fade into each other, blur into street lamps. Both of Tetsurou’s arms are slung over Akaashi and Bokuto’s shoulders as they wander down the late-night sidewalks of Setagaya in search of Tetsurou’s dorm. Bokuto’s hands are in Tetsurou’s pockets again. Akaashi laughs so hard at the sight of Bokuto shuffling along sideways with his chin propped up on Tetsurou’s shoulder that all three of them stumble.  
  
Tetsurou’s dorm is about where he left it, standing tall and mostly abandoned for the holiday at the edge of Nittaidai’s campus. When they finally drag themselves inside and up the stairs to his floor, Akaashi and Bokuto disappear for a suspiciously long time into the bathroom down the hall. Tetsurou can’t even care. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, thinking about how special nights like this are for Bokuto, of seizing moments and moods, and of warm, fuzzy butterflies on fire that are certainly nothing more than cute or adorable. There are _rules_ for these sorts of things.  
  


*** * ***

When he pries his eyes open—it only takes seven or eight attempts—Tetsurou is beyond certain that he doesn’t want to know why a half-naked Akaashi is sitting awake on the futon he keeps under Tetsurou’s bed, a blanket tossed over his head and shoulders like a cape. He’s reading one of Tetsurou’s books: a mystery novel Tetsurou bought at a second-hand shop along with a dozen others that he didn’t bother reading the backs of first. Tetsurou also doesn’t quite want to accept that he is being spooned by someone he’s pretty afraid is Bokuto.  
_  
Why_ does this keep happening to him?

“Explain,” Tetsurou grumbles, smashing his face into his pillow.

Akaashi sets the book aside and leans back on his palms. The blanket falls away. “You wouldn’t stop asking us to stay over after we brought you back. I’ll tell you all about it later, I don’t want to waste it on hungover-Kuroo.”

“I hate you. Why don’t you have your clothes on? Are my clothes on? Please tell me my clothes are on.”

Akaashi laughs. “You’re wearing my shirt, but other than that yes, all your clothes are on.”

“Thank god.”

“Bokuto’s not wearing pants, though.”

A terrible, high-pitched noise that immediately jacks Tetsurou’s headache up to an eight from a four bursts from his throat. “Why?”

“I didn’t really get the impression there was a reason for it.” Akaashi shuffles over to Tetsurou’s dresser and snags a random shirt to put on. It’s an old, long-sleeved Nekoma tee. Tetsurou would get a picture for Kenma to do terrible things with in the name of school spirit if moving didn’t make him want to throw up and he had any idea where his arms or phone were.

“Okay, fine, but what I don’t understand is why he’s cuddling with _me._ Isn’t this _your_ job?”

“And be the little spoon?” Akaashi scoffs. “No, thank you.”

“Goddamnit.” Tetsurou sighs.

Bokuto tightens his arms and nuzzles his face between Tetsurou’s shoulder blades.

“Did I at least win the tiara?”

“I love your priorities.”

“And I hate your boyfriend’s compulsive need to cuddle anything within reach, but we all have flaws.”

Terribly concealed amusement dances over Akaashi’s face. He relents. “I’ll tell him you won the tiara.”

Even half-asleep and stuck somewhere between hungover and still drunk, Tetsurou knows to be suspicious. “Why?”

“His favorite part is winning it back.”

Trying to escape Bokuto’s hold would be like trying to fight freezing to death, and it doesn’t seem worth the effort. It’s not like the regret will compound, twice is just as bad as once, and it’s already done anyway. Tetsurou pulls the blanket over his head, sinks into Bokuto’s warm hold, and lets himself start falling back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me, I've figured out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/frthelongestday) password.
> 
> Marking this one complete for now. There were (are?) plans for another one but it's being uncooperative so it's going in the maybe someday pile. As in maybe, someday, we'll talk about why in the world Mad Dog and Kunimi tried to overthrow Yahaba.


End file.
